


Master Daud

by kryptic



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: A Spritz of Bondage, Cunnilingus, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Pegging, Slightly Dubious Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryptic/pseuds/kryptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the dishonored kinkmeme in April 2013.</p><p>Prompt: Billie Lurk/Daud, Pegging, Bonus points if she ties him up and makes him eat her out first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Master Daud

**Author's Note:**

> Note: When I say slightly dubious con, I mean that you know, heʻs tied up and being forced to do this and whatnot. But the nature of their relationship is such that Daud would never truly be forced to do anything that he didnʻt want to - itʻs all how he and Billie play. The fic, is, however, tagged as such for those who feel uncomfortable reading any form of dubious consent whatsoever.
> 
> Much love, the formerly anonymous author.

Insubordination. That is all he can describe it as. The very height of disobedience.

His muscles strain and flex against the bonds at his wrists, every line of his back standing out in stark contrast as he attempts to yank himself free.

It’s useless, of course. Daud was the one who taught Billie Lurk to tie that way, and he knows that the only way he’s getting loose is if she sets him free. Still, the two only options available to him are struggling uselessly and internally chastising himself. He does plenty of both.

Calling for help, of course, is out of the question. Not with his cock thick and hard between his legs, the indignity adding insult to injury. He would rather weather whatever ordeal she has in mind for him than let one of his assassins see him this way.

He never should have let his guard down on her. Even piled into a sweaty mess after a particularly exhausting bout of prigging, he should have anticipated that something like this might happen. Though she hasn’t offered any explanation yet, he at least suspects why he is currently naked on his knees on the floor, hands knotted behind his back.

Work is hard lately, and he often lacks the energy to finish her off if he should happen to come first. The first time, she punched him in the mouth. After that memorable incident, Daud thought that she had calmed down about the matter. It began to happen with increasing frequency.

Apparently, she’s still rather disgruntled with him.

Shortly after taking him captive and dumping him onto the floor next to his own bed, she disappeared and left him to regain consciousness on his own. Though he has no idea where she’s gone or why, he can only hope that she returns soon. His body is beginning to ache, his kneeling posture and the stooped position of his back growing uncomfortable. At the same time, however, he can only dread what she intends to do to him upon her arrival.

He stays there for what feels like hours, though he knows it is little more than fifteen minutes. When she returns, there is something in her hand. Wood and leather. Glossy. Polished. There is a strap and a buckle. He shivers, but his eyes are hard.

“You’re going to pay for this, Lurk.”

She narrows her eyes and scoffs at him, depositing the parcel on his bookshelf and standing in front of him. She braces the bottom of a boot on his shoulder, making him curl his lip at the dirt and Outsider-knows-what-else scraping off on his skin.

“I could make things much worse for you,” she says, removing her foot and casually laying out the contents of her belt on his mattress. “Or better. It’s your choice whether you want to continue being stubborn and stupid or do what I want for once.”

Billie looks down at him, some kind of twisted warmth crossing her face as she beholds the man before her. Defeated, though he doesn’t know it yet, or at least, doesn’t acknowledge.

“In fact, I suggest that you begin to get used to some changes. First off, there will be a slightly different structure of power. You,” she comes forward again, running her fingers through his hair affectionately, “are going to be my little bitch. Do you know what that would make me, Daud?”

He shakes his head at her, pinning his tongue between his teeth. Not about to give her the satisfaction.

Irritated by his silence, she wraps a hand around his throat, squeezing just tight enough to make him worry. “Don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”

“Billie…”

Her free hand comes down hard and fast across his face. A few moments later, the mark begins to rise to the surface - a sharp, stinging reminder of his position.

“Not Billie,” she says, and now her grip leaves him only the faintest breath of air, one that he has to suck in desperately just to form the dreaded word. It’s his title, not hers. She doesn’t deserve it.

He looks up at her, white showing all the way around his grey eyes. His voice, naturally hoarse, is strained to almost nothing as he answers.

“Master.”

She releases him with almost painful suddenness, watching him with wicked humor as he gulps down breaths of air. “Good boy.”

The diminutive statement provokes a growl of anger. Drawing himself up with as much pride and dignity as he can manage – which is not much – Daud chastises her in his typically icy manner.

“Don’t speak to me that way, Lurk.”

Her mild expression twists immediately into a vicious sneer. She takes him by the ear and yanks, making him wince and strain to ease the tension. Suddenly, her breath is hot on his face, coursing over his skin. Her lips are drawn back to show the points of her teeth.

“You’re a smart man, Daud, so I don’t know why I have to keep repeating myself to you. You are under my control now. I will speak to you however the fuck I want.”

She steps back and her foot strikes him squarely in the solar plexus. After a moment of blackness, he finds himself blinking up at the ceiling with a sharp pain in his head, flat on his back and winded. Lurk still stands above him, her boot planted firmly on his chest. She bends down to unlace it, unceremoniously planting her other foot atop him when she finishes to repeat the process.

At last, she straightens. Her hands work at her belt while she sneers down at him. The length of leather is wound about her fist and clutched tightly as if to make use of later. Then her trousers drop to the ground and she kicks them aside beneath his bed.

No underwear. Typical.

“Nice view,” he quips, earning himself a barefoot kick to the ribs. It’s only been a few minutes and his body has already begun to collect a constellation of bruises.

“Maybe this will shut you up,” Billie says, spreading her legs wide and lowering herself to her knees above his head. A nice view doesn’t even begin to describe it. He can see her, smell her, even feel her heat on his face.

Even if he wasn’t tied, he would gladly indulge her now. But it’s the principle of the thing that prevents him from leaning up and doing what she so obviously intends to force him into.

Against his will, his lips begin to open, but he clamps them tightly shut. Her fingers knot into his hair and pull, tugging at his head until his mouth is flush against her cunt.

“Do it,” she says, pressing down against him. Unable to speak, Daud only shakes his head. She repeats herself. “Do it.”

He makes an attempt to resist, turning his head away only to have it yanked back into place. Billie is hot and warm against his mouth, insistent, and no matter how he tries to escape her, she is always there.

At last, his arms seem liable to pop out of his sockets if he’s pinned in this position any longer, so he allows himself to succumb to her. His tongue darts out and slides between her lips, already slick, flushed, and parted. Though he’s uncomfortable and frustrated and embarrassed and angry beyond all reason, he cannot deny that she tastes like heaven. Like fruit overripe, gushing into his mouth, he devours her.

Billie, though she tries, is incapable of remaining silent. First, her breath quickens, then a few errant moans escape. From the sharp cut of her teeth into her lower lip, they should be bitten back, but manage to slip through past her guard. With wicked intent, he moves his focus upward to her clitoris, his tongue rapidly working against her flesh, trying to produce a more gratifying sound. Daud, craning, sucks it into his mouth and lets his tongue play along its surface, stroking and rubbing and lapping until her lungs are straining with wordless cries.

Then, when the heaving of her chest relaxes and she attempts to pull away, he stops her. A single word. “No.”

Though obviously surprised, she lowers herself onto him again. Obeys him, he thinks, but he won’t allow himself to believe it. Her grip on his hair only tightens with each touch of his mouth on her cunt, newly sensitive after release and delicate as spun sugar.

Daud lowers his mouth to her slit again and licks up the juices that her orgasm left, their salt and tang mildly addicting. He tongues the smooth, creamy insides of her labia, letting her cool down for now so he can make her come again later. It has been minutes since he was last able to feel his arms, but this service takes precedence. A small, resentful, mostly ignored part of his brain urges that she is trying to brainwash him.

And she is. And he likes it.

What he likes most is the feeling of her squirming above him, keening, moaning. He can almost ignore the hands locked tightly in his hair and imagine her under his control. His lips and tongue form the shape of her pleasure, decide whether she will roll and grind her hips against him, thirsting for more. It is entirely obscene and he makes a note in the back of his mind to remind her of it later.

He brings her to another climax, this one even more heated than the last. She claws at his scalp and tries to stifle a cry that almost turns into a scream, bending almost double over him to smother what becomes a string of muffled groans. Daud can feel her thighs twitching against her will on either side of him, in rhythm with the motion of his tongue. When at last he lets her come down from that height, she is soaking, panting. Her legs can barely support her weight as she staggers to her feet.

After a moment’s dazed blinking in his direction, Billie pulls him up into a sitting position, as if presenting him with a reward. The weight eased from his arms sends a shock of pins and needles coursing through his upper body, but he flexes what he can of his limbs and fingers, restoring circulation cut off almost too long.

He licks his lips, though it doesn’t do him much good. She’s made a mess of him – all over his face, his chin, his cheeks. The sight brings a victorious smile to her face. Devoid of the immediate distraction of a warm cunt to lap at, he resents that expression.

Spits at her feet. The taste of Billie on his tongue is sorely missed.

Daud scowls in her direction, a predatory snarl curling his upper lip. “Satisfied?”

Her mild grin vanishes in an instant, replaced by the gnashing of furiously bared teeth. She steps forward, seeming to gain her balance back by sheer force of will, and stands squarely in front of him. “What do you think?”

He scoffs. “Well, by the sound of it—“

Before Daud can finish his sentence, another slap rains hard across his face. She wipes the wetness that he leaves behind on her palm in the now disarrayed strands of his hair.

He tosses his head indignantly and stares her down, but the gesture is somewhat ineffective with her fluids smeared and glistening across his face.

“Shut up,” she snaps, open hand poised and ready to deliver another blow.

He sneers at her. “A rather crude way of getting what you want.”

“Well, I learned from the best,” she growls back. “And you didn’t seem to have any complaints when you were tipping my fucking velvet just now.”

“I was forced.”

Billie scoffs, though the gesture is completely unnecessary. He already knows the weakness of his argument. Even as he sucks the rest of her taste from his lips, Daud relishes the flavor.

“I’ll show you ‘forced.’”

He’d almost forgotten about the instrument she brought with her upon entrance. Now, as she reaches for it, Daud feels a pang of fear lance through him.

She rolls up her sleeves and straps the dildo between her legs. It juts out under the bottom button of her shirt, at least as large as his cock and inexpressibly daunting. Lurk hooks her arms under his shoulders and tosses him bodily across his own bed, slumped and face down with his ass horrifically exposed.

Daud can already see where this is going. He struggles desperately, but she holds him down with muscles like steel cable, his shoulders pressed down to the bed, head turned to the side to gasp for air.

“I swear on the Outsider, Lurk, you’re going to need a new home after this.”

“You’re going to need a new arsehole if you keep struggling.”

That is a threat that Daud finds concerning. He freezes immediately – not happy about it, but frightened into obedience.

“There’s a good boy,” she coos, her voice purposefully condescending.

He hears the pop of a cork from somewhere and then her fingers slide quite suddenly between his cheeks and press something slick and wet against his entrance. He bites the sheets to stifle his initial grunt, loosening the iron grip of his jaw as he becomes accustomed to the sensation.

“What is that?”

“Olive oil from Serkonos. A gift from home for you, Daud.” And without any further ado, before even completing her sentence, she slides a finger directly into his ass. “Going to need new gloves after this.”

Any reply that he possibly could have given her is long beyond the range of his mental faculties now. He’s had a lover or two try to touch him there before, but he has the feeling that Billie intends to push him farther than he has ever let another person venture. Her finger dips in and out of him, working brusquely, but carefully. It is now that he feels truly helpless, lower than the ground beneath her feet. The sensation of warm leather, pushing, spreading him open and probing into him, has wiped the last thoughts of rebellion from his brain.

He can barely say her name.

“Billie. Outsider’s eyes…” And perhaps his patron deity is not the best name to be invoking at this time, but he is sure to be lurking somewhere already, watching. Laughing.

Daud remains, torso pressed into the mattress, face buried against the sheets, a sheen of sweat cooling on his back. She adds another drop of oil, another finger, and he groans. There is a vague spike of discomfort in his lower abdomen and he realizes that his cock has gone hard, the shame of that fact only eased by the knowledge that she cannot see his erection from this angle.

“My name isn’t Billie,” she says, and he nods. His mumbled correction is hardly audible, but Lurk can read the word through his humiliation.

It causes her to rub another daub of oil against his hole after she removes her fingers, teasing the tip of the strap on against his entrance. Hard and slippery and shaped specifically for penetration, it slides the first inch of the way quite easily. It’s then that she rocks her hips against him, pushing deeper to the sound of his mangled groans.

He clenches his fists like iron, his knuckles going white with pressure until he feels her thighs meet his skin. The rough fabric of her shirt rustles against his back, her body warm and hard on top of him. She bites down hard on the shell of his ear, growling against the side of his face.

His only reaction is a shudder and another muffled moan.

“That’s right,” she snarls, beginning a rhythm of thrusts and withdrawals. Billie sighs with each roll of her hips, and Daud follows suit with louder and more strangled cries.

But she doesn’t go slowly for long. When she’s sure that her motion isn’t hurting him overmuch, she increases her pace, gripping him by the shoulders and ramming into him at full force. Despite his desperate attempts to the contrary, he releases a humiliating whimper, hiding his face in the sheets.

There is the slap of flesh on flesh as she continues, accompanied by the soul-searing sensation of vulnerability that comes with being penetrated. Not only can he feel it, but each clap of clashing skin seems to collide with his ears, making him doubly aware. The sound is like a hammer, driving the nail deep into his psyche.

At the same time, however, she is managing to strike something, somewhere inside of him, that sends shivers of pleasure racking through his body. Uncomfortable and borderline painful as it may be to have himself stretched around her fake cock, there is a certain tingling sensation that is beginning to tip the scales toward something different.

He moans.

Not from suffering.

Now her punishment does not seem to be enough, so he rolls his hips backward to meet hers, intensifying each thrust. There is a small, short gasp of surprise from behind, but never once does Billie’s pace or energy falter.

They fuck like that. He can feel her muscles, hard and straining, against his back and folded arms. A layer of sweat collects between them and rolls down along his spine. Her teeth latch to the back of his neck like a shark and cling.

That flickering heat rises in his belly, different this time. There is another flavor to his ecstasy, but he does not possess the presence of mind required for any kind of analysis. All he knows is that he feels it, from his chest to his stomach to the base of his cock, and then he gasps hard into the mattress as he comes.

Billie pulls out of him and takes him by the hair, twisting his neck around to an uncomfortable angle so that she can see his face. She is no less threatening in this moment than she was before, though the satisfaction she sought after now reads clear in her features.

“This had better be the last time you fall asleep before I get mine, or I swear on the Outsider I’ll do this again.”

Daud lifts his eyes to her face with new longing, almost hopeful if she didn’t know any better. His dark voice is a rasp of pain, exhaustion, embarrassment, and a hidden seed of satisfaction.

“…Will you?”


End file.
